


Ghost of His Former Self

by notyourusername



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Verse, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mourning, Not so much Wolf things in this one, Pre-Slash, more drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourusername/pseuds/notyourusername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' big brother Davis can be annoying (kind of a douche really), but at least his friend Derek is all right.  But it's not until He loses him does Derek actually take on an important role in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghost of My Former Self [1]

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this scenario meme about Stiles having nightmares over the death of his brother and mother and it gave me the idea to write this Fic. 
> 
> It’s about how Stiles is dealing with the death of his mother and brother and Derek, his brother’s best friend, is left to try to take care of the younger brother and keep the Stilinski family from falling apart. The Sheriff isn’t doing well and Scott still tries to do his best.
> 
> It's not very faithful to the story in the supernatural wise, since I tried to take certain liberties with it.

“Hey Stiles! Stop beating one out to Lydia for two seconds! I’m coming in with Derek and we want to use the computer.”

Stiles’ older brother Davis was an annoying dickface, in his opinion. He was studying as a junior in high school while Stiles was just about to finish middle school. You can imagine Davis’ type: main star on the lacrosse team, smoking hot girlfriend and beloved by the entire freaking school. Not only was he a star athlete, but he was a star student thanks to his grade. The most pretentious part of all that annoyed Stiles was that he was actually nice to people. Sure, he made lame jokes at him and gave him the occasional noogie at home, but he was a good brother… when he wasn’t being a dick for brains.  
“Let me guess, you two are going to look up the new Playboy on the internet with Lindsay Lohan? Why don’t you keep some real women sometimes?” Stiles threw a the sofa pillow and missed.  
“I already get the real women.” Davis laughed loudly and got a high five from his best friend Derek.  
“Hey kid. Your brother isn’t being too much of an ass is he?” Derek ruffled Stiles hair and smiled. Derek was one of Davis’ nicer friends, and the closest one he had. He looked out for the younger brother and kicked Davis whenever he found him guilty of any excessive manhandling. He was glad when he came over because he tried to include Stiles in whatever they were doing, even if Davis just spent the rest of the afternoon rolling his eyes as his brother. Derek wasn’t on the lacrosse team like him; he was on the heavyweight wrestling team. He won champion last year and was on the track to win again. His carved physique made him an adequate specimen for battle on and off the mat.  
“I feel bad if I try to stifle the only thing he’s good at.” Stiles shrugged as he got up from his bed and made way for the junior boy’s mess.  
“You’re a real class clown aren’t you? Why don’t you hang with kids from your own class? Where’s that kid that you always follow home? Scott’s his name right?” Davis took the ball of the bad and started throwing it around with Derek. "The little pup?"  
“He’s around. He’s busy doing something about a project at his house or something.” Scott was Stile’s best (if not **only** ) friend in this life. Most kids teased the boy because of his mental problems, but Scott just didn’t care about that. He found Stiles to be cool and entertaining; plus, he beat up anyone who tried shoving him into a locker. He wasn't very good at winning, but he tried.  
“Stiles, catch!” Derek threw the ball at Stiles, who was able to catch it with little trouble. “Nice! It looks like Davis didn’t get all of the talent he so casually claims.” He threw a look at the man laid out on the bed.  
“Hey, some of my genius had to rub off on the kid.” Stiles threw the ball at his brother and it hit its mark below the belt.  
“You idiot!” He stifled out as he bended over in pain.  
“I thought you had the ability for wrestling, they way you have to face Davis at home all day.” Derek laughed at his pain.  
“Wait, so I’d have to find myself against you? No thanks.” Stiles refused the idea as it came in his head.  
“You’d be in the lightweight division. But if you want, I could give you some practice if you want.” Derek winked at the younger kid who shuffled in place.  
“That is something I would pay to see.” Davis got up from the bed to take his brother under his arm and pay him back for castrating him.  
“Davis stop it! Don’t be a douche!”  
“Why don’t you ask your hero Derek to save you?” Stiles and Davis looked at Derek, who acted like the computer screen held the meaning of life. "'Oh Derek'," He feigned. "'Save with your big strong arms.' What's that Derek? 'I will defeat the dragon, because it is my duty to save the fairest princess in the land.'" Davis laughed as Stiles wasn't able to pull out from under him.  
"I mean it, quit it!" He yelled.  
“ _Boys!_ ” A female’s voice was heard from downstairs and approaching the stairs. “ _I better find everything peachy upstairs._ ” Davis let go of Stiles and threw himself back onto the bed, the mattress groaning under its abuse. “Doesn’t this look completely innocent?” She crossed her arms. Mama Jill Stilinski had short brunette hair that never reached past her shoulders, but she put it up anyway just in case. Her face showed that she was a fighter and survived quite a few battles of her own; but her eyes revealed that her soul was unaffected by the horror she’d seen. Her kindness was given to all who were willing to receive it, although those who went against it did not receive it a second time. She was a good mother to her family, but also firm if she needed it to be. “Davis?”  
“Yeah mom?”  
“I need to go out to buy some things. Be a dear and come with me; I’m going to need help with some of the groceries.”  
“Why can’t you take Stiles?” He gestured to Derek. “I have company.”  
“I don’t mind going with you guys to help out.” Davis stared daggers at his friend.  
“Oh, aren’t you sweet? Don’t worry Derek. I’m sure my husband can give you a ride home later if you need it. You can stay here if you want, keep Stiles company.” Jill smiled at the boys, which meant either they do as she said or they would have to go hunting for their dinner.  
“Fine.” Davis got up and walked towards the door. “I’ll be back in a while. Don’t mess around with my stuff too much Stiles.” Davis winked at him.  
“I love you dear. We’ll be back soon.” She came in and gave him a kiss before leaving. Stiles hated how she did that in public embarrassing her, especially in front of his or Davis’ friends. When she pulled away from him, Stiles screamed. Her face was purple, open wounds all over and blood coming out of her eyes and nose. “ArE YoU OkAY DeAR?” She reached out to put her hand on him, but it had half of the skin dangling.  
“WhAT a WuSs!” He turned to his brother, who wasn’t himself anymore either. His clothes were all bloodied, something was stuck in his neck as well as his forehead. He called out for Derek, but he wasn’t there anymore. He was stuck with these monsters that kept talking and coming at him as if it were normal. The noise of police cars entered the room, getting louder and louder, until he couldn’t stand it! He closed his eyes.


	2. Teenage Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't doing too well. It's almost the year of his mother and brother's death, and let's just say he's not taking it well.

               Stiles woke up sweating. He didn’t scream out this time because he didn’t want his dad running into his room again and making everything worse. He got up and threw his shirt on the floor and went into the bathroom, turned the sink and ran the water over his head. The cold helped him avoid his thoughts for a second or two. It’s been 11 months since his mother and Davis passed away. His father was the one to get the call, being the town sheriff and all, drove out to the scene, not knowing what was waiting for him. Derek was hanging around with Stiles at home when his father returned. Stiles jumped down the stairs complaining about the lack of dinner when he saw him. His eyes were red and foggy, his mouth vibrating and unable to form anything. Stiles tried snapping his father out of it, but it wasn’t until the Deputy came in and took the sheriff into the kitchen for a drink, his head down and unable to see Stiles. Derek was standing at the top of the stairs watching it all unfold. He knew what happened. He knew it all too well; the details are never the same when it comes to a parent’s death, but the events are always the same. The child is stuck in a place where reality is impossible and yet he’s forced to confront it. Suddenly, the link he has since birth is ripped apart, an essence that’s indescribable is snatched away.

                He got out of the shower and took some pills his therapist prescribed him; said these might work better with his "empty feelings". He sat down on the computer because he didn’t want to go to sleep again, not when every time he closed his eyes he kept getting flashes of his mom and Davis rotting in his dreams. He looked around and found nothing interesting to see, but still, the hum of the computer was better than the other choices. He laid down on the bed and acted like he was still sleeping when his father came in to wake him up for school. There was talk about them having a memorial on the anniversary of Davis’ death in the courtyard, with pictures and speeches of everyone remembering the golden boy. Stiles had entered into his freshmen year of high school without much trouble, and just kept to himself. Everyone expected him to try out for the lacrosse team, follow in his brother's steps, but he never saw the reason for it, especially with the lack of motivation he had for it.

                The doorbell rang.

                “Hey, Derek.” His father opened the door to find the young man greeting him as Stiles went into the kitchen for a bagel.

                “Hello sheriff.” Derek shook his hand. “How are you doing?”

Derek had become a sort of replacement for Davis, coming by everyday to check on the two surviving men in the family. He mourned Davis deeply but chose to be strong for his younger brother, look out for him as he had promised to do. The sheriff had become more distant with their passing, and tended to take another glass of whiskey at nights when Derek didn’t come by to try to keep them from falling into the abyss.

                “We’re still here.” It was the Sheriff’s reply every time Derek asked, although somtimes the tone would be different. “You here to pick up Stiles?”

                “Yeah, I was thinking maybe I could give him a ride since I was already on the way?”

                “Let’s go.” Stiles passed by his father and slipped through the door without another remark. They never thought they’d miss the days for when Stiles just wouldn’t shut up.

                “You know you could try saying thanks every other while.” Derek mused as he turned the key and started the car.

                “I’m sorry.” Stiles released the tension he kept inside of him. “I had another one of my dreams last night.” Stiles never told anyone about his recurrent visions of putrid family members past since it got him sent to the asylum for six months. He decided to keep it in afterwards, only mentioning them to Derek or Scott, both of whom became closer to Stiles as he continued in his Freshmen year.

                “You know I still think you should mention them to your therapist, or your dad.” Derek really hated seeing Stiles so depressed, stuck under a dark cloud and so distant to him. It’s why he always picked him up in the mornings when the sheriff was unable to take him, even though he had to divert from his way to school. It’s why he always kept an eye on him around the school and told the seniors not to even think of laying a hand on him or else he’d flip them into the dumpster.

                “The therapist doesn’t help.” Stiles complained.

                “Then get another.”

                “They’re all the same! And talking with my dad isn’t any better.” His father took the loss of his family hard, pouring himself into his work at the station or pouring himself an extra glass at home. He rarely remembered the ¼ of family that was still alive, or how he had to drag him back into his bed when he overdid it. “I think he drinks because he can’t stand to look at me; I remind him of Davis too much, and of mom…” Stiles bit the inside of his mouth so hard to stop the tears, blood rushing down his throat when he bit off flesh.

                “I’m sorry.” Most of the time when Stiles heard people apologize to him for his family’s death, he ended up getting in a fight. Not with Derek. Derek was a part of their family, since his foster family hadn’t really given him much thought. Derek always bore the pain of losing a mother and a brother, his closest friend. When Derek said he was sorry, it didn’t feel like pity most people threw at him for being the half orphan boy. “I got an idea; why don’t we go out to see the new Lohan movie? Sure, it’s probably shit but she shows her tits at one part. You can even bring Scott.” Stiles knew he was trying to be all macho for him, acting like he didn’t respect women enough to go see movies for smut scenes. If it weren’t for Derek, he might not have been able to handle the news that day.

                “No thanks. I think I’ll just stay in and catch up on some homework.”

                “I’ll give you a ride home afterwards, help you out with it.” Derek offered.

                “I’d rather walk and try to clear my head or something.” Stiles was thankful, but he also wanted to be alone. He wanted that more and more as the year came around.

                “Well, we’re already here. Get out before you’re late and get sent to detention again.” Derek braved a smile for the boy and parked nearby the doors.

                “Like they’re going to send the clinically depressed kid with the dead mother and brother of to detention for being late.”

                “It happens.” Derek was glad that Stiles still had some sarcasm left in him, even if it had poison in its tips.

****

                The day was marked and checked off like the rest of them, with Scott meeting up with him at his locker and hanging out during the classes until lunch. Scott wasn’t like Derek as he treated him with pincers, delicate about what he said. Scott was just a teenager with hormones breaking out and talking to his best bud about his latest girl crush. Derek was the one that got him all loosened up, but Scott was the one who often made his days go by less shit-filled, more normal. The day mentioned became a quite different when Valerie, the school’s head of Committees (and the busiest little beaver) came up to Stiles to talk to him about the memorial they were planning.

                “So, we have a big screen rented out, and we have seats for everyone so they can watch and mourn and remember all the good times.” Valerie was one of the people whom Stiles would have ended up in detention for if she were a dude. “I would like it if you could bring us some of his things so we can show them off and have them on display.”

                "What are you talking about... wait, his _things_?"

               "For the memorial! The one the school is preparing for Davis in honor of his achievements and the tragedy of his loss?"

                “They are actually planning something for the anniversary?" Stiles couldn't believe this. "And you want me to give you his things?"

                “Yeah.” Valerie nodded her head exesively. “We already have some of his trophies from the school display, but it would also be great if you could get us some photos for the montage. You know: videos of him playing or with your family, yadda, yadda, stuff like that. And do you think you could score us his jersey?”

                “Photos? Videos?” Stiles and his father never really were able to move any of Davis’ stuff from his room. The only reason his father was able to box up some of his mom’s belongings were because he couldn’t handle seeing them at night in their bedroom and Derek offered to help with the move. They now sat in the corner of Davis’ bedroom, taking up dust with the rest of the dead pieces. “We can’t…”

                “Oh but you must!” Valerie protested.  “Also we need to know when you are planning to make your speech for the remembrance, in case we need to bump anyone. You also need to keep it a bit short since we can't stay there all night! Some of us have to get home afterwards.” Valerie laughed and tapped Stiles shoulder. Scott was watching all of this unfold from his locker and realized too late what was about to take place.

                “Tell me something Valerie: did you know my brother?”

                “Well, duh. Everyone knew Davis.”

                “I mean personally, did you know him? Did you know who he was? What he was like? Did you know what he liked to eat? Where he wanted to go from high school? Did you spent your afternoons fighting with him over the remote?”

                “Well, I—”

                 “Did you once punch him in the face because he threw away your favorite comic? Did he ever save you from the rabid dog in the junkyard after he dared you to wake it thinking nothing bad would happen?”

                “No, but-”

                “Did you ever, even once, even  _talk to him_?”

“No," Her voice was barely heard. "I transferred here after he died.”

“Then, I suggest you SHUT THE FUCK up and act like you give a damn about my brother.” Scott tried calming Stiles down, but he had already created a scene.

“Did any of you really know my brother?” He turned on the onlookers who were trying to hide themselves.

“Come on man, let’s forget about these assholes.” Scott tried.

“I can’t Scott, don’t you think I’ve tried? I see how they look at me, in the hall, in classes, in the cafeteria. ‘Oh look, it’s Davis’ younger brother, the living Stilinski brother, who won’t even try out for Lacrosse to continue his brother’s legacy. What a waste!’ they say. They act like they’re so much better because they think they knew my brother because of the stories about him. They talk about him like they were close, just because he wore a jersey and liked to play with a ball. No one knew my brother, and hell if you even think about my mother. Did you all forget that he wasn’t the only one I lost, yes I said ‘I’ because none of you knew him enough to lost him, not only a brother, but my own mother as well?” His face was red and his eyes were too and wet. “You idiots don’t even know my family, and yet you want to make us relive the pain so you can dress up and say you knew, _you_ were at the school the year Davis Stilinski died. Well, good for you. I hope you’re all proud!” Stiles’ had so much pent up anger he was able to bring down a row of lockers to vent some out. He walked off to the locker rooms to get into the field, Scott running quickly behind him. But not before speaking with Valerie.

“How about a little respect for the dead?”


	3. Smoke and Flashbacks Don't Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott tries to get Stiles out of his funk, while he remembers when he first heard the news.

 “So now you took up smoking?” Scott caught Stiles sitting in the metal bleachers that gave him a meanish outlook. Stiles just took another puff out of his cigarette before throwing it out on the field.

                “Are you going to rat me out to the cops?”

                “Who me? Never. We’re partners in crime.” Scott sat down next to him but chose to move down the bleachers when he saw his friend was still touchy after his outburst with Valerie. “You might wanna try to cut down on those though.”

                “Whatever.” Stiles attempted to ignore the anger and feelings the idiot brought out of him, but the nightmares came in his head as well, which didn’t helped. “These idiots just can’t stop sticking their foot in their mouth can they? Acting like pretentious snobs that think they knew who he was.”

                “Yeah, you’re right, but you probably shouldn’t have made such a scene with Valerie either, man. The principal is probably going to suspend you again for that little ‘outburst’.” Scott mimicked the principal’s arrogant voice he used to lecture them in detention, the same one that he used to feel superior. “ ‘The other children deserve to be respected and not have to suffer your problems when I am sure they have enough of their own to deal with’.”

                “Good. Maybe he’ll suspend me long enough so I can avoid the farce they’re planning.”

                “Stiles, come on.”

                “What?”

                “You don’t talk about it; ever.”

                “Do I really need to?” Stiles got up and started walking out while a group of cheerleaders came to practice their cheers. When they saw him, they got real quiet and crowded away from him.

                “I think you should. The way they died—”

                “Don’t.” Stiles cut Scott off. His voice was harsh, his face red. He didn't want to cut down his circle of friends in half. “Please.” Scott hated seeing his best friend in so much pain. He missed the old, crazy, never-let-life-get-him-down Stiles. He always tried to push to help his friend vent but always chickened out when he saw how Stiles would get.

                “Come on.” He said. “Let’s go and find the principal and get it over with.”

*******

_“Hey Stiles, how’s everything?”_

_“Spare me the routine bullcrap, Andy, and tell me what happened?” Stiles spoke to the old family friend as though he didn't care he was the town Deputy, while his father sat in the kitchen with a glass shaking in his hand, his head in the other._

_“I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you this. Just wait until your father sobers up so he can speak with you.” His face was sickly, like he wanted to get out of there before things went to hell._

_“I am not a kid, Andy, so stop with the handling!” Stiles started shaking, but it was for fear of what was coming.  Deputy Conrad sighed as he took a seat._

_“It’s Jill and Davis, son. They were in an accident out on the highway…” The words continued, but they were just echoes that Stiles’ mind couldn’t maintain. He felt sick, his entire body unable to sustain him. Derek jumped down the stairs and caught him before he hit the ground. Stiles’ father took his face out of his glass long enough to realize what was going on with his son._

_“Stiles, get up buddy.” Derek tried to calm him but he wouldn’t stop shaking; his breathing was erratic. "Come on."_

_“Get his inhaler.” Sheriff Stilinski ordered his second in command, but Derek grabbed his arm._

_“It’s not an asthma attack; he’s having a panic attack.” Derek put his hands on Stiles’ face to steady his focus.  “You need to breathe, Stiles. I know it’s bad, but you need to **breathe.** ” It wasn’t working. Stiles was too out of it. Derek ended up smacking his face, hard. It calmed him down, but it sent Stiles into a catatonic state. Derek didn’t want to try making matters worse so with the help of the widow they got him inside the cop car and sped off into the hospital._


	4. Derek the Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes over to see how Stiles is doing post-Valerie.

“So is this how you spend your nights now? On your computer in the middle of the night?” Derek climbed into Stiles’ bedroom through his usual entrance, via open window.

“You can thank the pills for that.” After the accident, Stiles was checked into the hospital for over a week until he broke out of his catatonic. At first he was in denial, breaking everything in his hospital room; then, he wouldn’t stop crying. It landed him in a neverending parade of therapy and a lifetime subscription to Aderall. Funny side effect: it can cause difficulty sleeping and even insomnia.

“I heard you had a problem at school today.”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Stiles didn’t feel the need for Derek’s little "talks".

“Who was it?” Derek threw himself on the bed and took off his shoes. He wasn’t going to leave without talking about what happened. With a sigh, Stiles finally gave in.

“Valerie.” Stiles groaned. “Her and her little homage to the school hero.”

Derek wasn't surprised. “And what did it get you?”

“Two weeks suspension. I should have gotten a month, but principal douchebag wanted to make sure I didn’t miss the memorial.” Stiles went to the bathroom and closed the door. Derek sat up on the edge of the bed.

“I see. And are you going?”

“You know I’m not.” Stiles spoke from the other side of the door.

“Why not?” Stiles opened the door, holding a glass of water in one hand and reaching for his pills with the other. The warm climate of the night made the boy remove his shirt and change into some boxer shorts for the night.

“Don’t ask me things you know the reason to already.”

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you, but it isn’t really much of one if you don’t talk.” He got up and hovered over Stiles and his computer. On the edge of the desk were a couple of photos of him and Davis, others of the whole family. “Do you remember that 4th of July, when your dad bought these gigantic monstrosities he called fireworks? Jill wanted to rip his throat out, but you two were so excited to blow stuff up?”

“Yeah, Davis let me light up the Chinese Fire Dragon; mom fainted when she saw me with the lit lighter.” Stiles started laughing, which made Derek laugh too. It was so long since he had heard the Stiles' genuine laughter; it was a refreshing sound.

“There’s the Stiles everyone loves.” Derek pulled him by the neck and sat him down next to him on the bed.  Stiles' smile came with memories of his brother and made him forget everything bad; and then, he remembered.

“I miss them.” Stiles broke down on Derek’s lap. He didn’t cry; he was so tired of crying. His problem was the fact he couldn’t stop mourning them.

“I know it hurts.” Derek put his hand on his shoulder. “I lost them too.”

“Derek, can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“How old were you when you lost your family?” He felt how Derek’s body tensed at the question, quickly hating himself for asking. Derek talked about the Stilinski’s so much as his family that he never mentioned his biological one. His current living arrangements were as ambiguous as he made it out to be. “I’m sorry. I keep running my mouth, don’t I?” He heard how Derek took in a breath and held it for a second or two before letting it out.

“It’s okay.” Derek relaxed before speaking. “I don’t remember much about what happened. The doctor’s say I blocked out the most of the incident to avoid further trauma. I do remember being inside my house with my parents and my sister Laura when we started smelling the smoke. My father went out to investigate and the next thing I know, I was outside, although I have no memory of how I escaped. The paramedics couldn’t explain how. The others apparently died under the rubble of my burning home.” Derek’s face had tears streaming down, but Stiles acted like he couldn’t see them.

“How did you cope?” Stiles asked.

“Who says I did? I became another orphan in the system. I bounced around from foster parents to foster parents; spent a couple of years in Juvie. It’s why I understand why you yell out at everyone and don’t actually talk to people.  I, on the other hand, liked to make people join in my misery. It wasn’t until one night, when I was running from my foster parents as usual, when I saw Lauren.”

“Your sister? Didn’t she die in the fire too?”

“That’s what they told me, although they couldn’t find her in all of the rubble. I thought it some kind of bad trip, but it was actually a warning, a little sibling advice. She yelled at me to stop being such a whiny brat, as she put it, and stop with the hate. ‘Mom and dad wouldn’t want you to be like this, and I don’t either. So, get your shit together and do something like you always said you were going to do!’”

“What happened then?”

“Then I woke up inside a taxi cab that had dropped me off at my foster parent’s house. He couldn’t say how I got there.”

“Didn’t speak English, huh?”

“That too.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “They decided to move me one last time and I ended up in this town. My foster parents aren’t perfect, but they don’t burn me like some of the others did.” Derek never told anyone about one of his families used to put out their lit cigarettes on him, the ones who put him in the trunk when he broke the dishes, the one who hid him in the closet while she dealt with a "client". Stiles tried to look nonchalantly at his arms but found no marks, which made him shudder as to where they might be. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine now, and Davis is part of the reason why. He was my first friend when I started as a freshman in the new school.”

“I remember that. Davis was so nervous about starting high school that he almost jumped over the house when he said he had made a friend, on his first day.” The memory of Davis being Stiles' current age and looking so happy made him melancholic for those times when he had the older brother to look up to (sans the occasional noogie), and the mother to pick him up when he was crying. “When does it stop?” Stiles asked. “When do I stop missing them, or cringe when I realize I’m all alone?”

“You never stop missing them, nor do they stop hurting. You just have to power on, keeping them close to you, but not let the pain anchor you down.” Derek got off the bed and waited until he got in to at least try to shut his eyes, as promised by Stiles. “And by the way?” Derek said before climbing out.

“What?”

“Who says you’re alone?” He was gone, leaving Stiles to find some sleep.

*****

_“How’s it feel to fight with a bunch of guys wearing nothing but a tight suit that barely covers anything? And the fact that you can pretty much see their dicks go hard when you touch them make you feel uncomfortable?”_

_Davis jumped down from his place in the benches and sat down in the first row of the assembly. Everyone had pretty much left the wrestling practice but Davis stayed behind since Derek was his ride home. He didn’t mind. The fact that Derek could flip over guys twice his size without even trying made him feel very protected._

_“Says the guy hitting people with sticks over a ball.” Derek wiped his face with the closest towel and downed the entire water bottle Davis threw at him. His singlet was now soaked with a mixture of water and sweat._

_“Says the quarterback.” Davis corrected, posing as if Derek was about to faint at the sight of him. In a way, Davis was glad Derek wasn’t on the lacrosse team. It would’ve sucked to go through some of the fights he normally had with his teammates with Derek; the fact that he could also beat him came to mind._

_“I bet you wouldn’t last a minute on the mat with me.” Derek didn’t buy into Davis’ cockiness; he knew him too well. Davis was all tough on the field, but he had no real strength when it comes to hand to hand combat. Sure, he had a good maneuver to knock people of their feet, but his upper body strength was no match to Derek’s full force._

_“Is that a challenge?” Shit, thought Davis, no backing out now. Derek wouldn’t really…._

_“Come on, big shot.” Derek pulled Davis by his arm and threw him onto the circle. He quickly composed himself and faced the wide chested teen. He tried charging at him and knocking him down via his stomach, but Derek saw his play and sidestepped him, blocked him with his right arm and took out his legs. It didn’t take long before Derek was hunched over him, his arms wrapped behind his head and locking Davis down. “Still say you’re all tough?”_

_“Okay! Okay! You proved your point!” Davis wriggled under the titan but it made little progress._

_“What do we say?”_

_“I’m your bitch! I give! Uncle! Open Sesame!” Derek released his grip and raised his arms in victory. He held his hand out to help Davis up._

_“And don’t you forget it.” They made their way to the locker room, Derek peeling off the singlet and wrapping a towel around his waist as he looked for his change of clothes. Davis’ phone rang, his younger brother Stiles on the other line._

_“Hey bro… What?…Dude, I am not covering you with mom again…just fix it yourself!” The conversation went on for a few more minutes until Davis hung up, his face scrunched in frustration._

_“So… How is Stiles?” Derek always did his best to defuse Davis’ anger against his younger brother Stiles and their sibling rivalry._

_“Forget about it.” What that really meant is that he was going to start up again when he was in the car. According to Stiles, the younger Stilinski son ran into some trouble with some of the twerps in his school thanks to his good old buddy Scott McCall. “He’s just pisses me off sometimes.” He pressed the lever in the car and laid back in his car seat._

_“Dude, you need to go easy on him.”_

_“I can’t; I’m his big brother. I’m supposed to look out for him, make sure he doesn’t make a mess of himself.”_

_“Is that why you need to kick him down every time I see you with him?” Derek had hit a nerve, because Davis looked hurt._

_“I’m not mean to him intentionally Derek, I’m trying to look out for him. I don’t want him to let himself be pushed around by those morons he has to deal with.”_

_“So you become public enemy number one?”_

_“I push him because I want him to fight back, not be afraid. Our parents mean well, but I’m the one who has to look out for him. I love Stiles, and I want what’s best for him.” Derek smiled at the brotherly affection. “And if you tell him that, I’m going to kick your ass, wrestling champion or not.”_

_“I swear.” Derek's pearly whites beaming back at his friend, whose face went serious._

_“Derek. There’s this scout from this university that’s looking into my talents. He says if I do well on the next game, he might be able to offer me early admission and a full ride.”_

_“Whoa.” Derek knew this was a big thing._

_“Yeah, You’re the only person I’ve told. I don’t want my family to know without making anything official.”_

_“Davis….”_

_“You know we’re not that fortunate on the money front, and this could help a lot and give Stiles a chance to get into something that doesn’t involve him working in some fast food place. There’s a catch though: it’s in Texas.”_

_“But that’s—”_

_“Yes, I know. Don’t remind me. That leaves Stiles starting high school all by himself.”_

_“He can handle himself Davis. You ought to give him more credit.”_

_“Just promise me one thing Derek: promise you’ll take care of him? If I have to leave or whatever, you’ll make sure he doesn’t screw up his life?” One of the reasons Davis excelled at everything was because he feared the other option; he didn’t accept failure and didn’t want to end up like most of the rejects that graduate high school and never amount to anything. He wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, out of the small town and their small living._

_“God, Davis, are you serious?” Derek had already arrived at the Stilinski home, but none of them had made a move to enter the house._

_“Derek.” Davis was sitting upright again, his eyes full of worry for Stiles and what it meant for him for Derek to take his place if  he ever were unable to do his job._

_“I promise.” Derek smiled as they finally got out of the car. “God, you’re such a pussy sometimes.”_

_“It’s your fault.” Davis was once again feeling smug of himself. “All of your female hormones are rubbing on me.” He heard how he ran up the stairs to yell at Stiles. “Hey Stiles! Stop beating one out to Lydia for two seconds!_ ”


	5. Things You See in a Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't handling suspension well, while Scott has a brilliant idea.

             The two weeks in lockdown went by greater than hoped. Being away from idiots made his attitude more pleasant to be around. His solitude was made less lonely with occasional visits to his home by Derek and the ever cheerful Scott. He didn’t mind Derek coming over or even Scott, but he felt uncomfortable having Scott see his dad tripping around the house. As the anniversary of the death of his wife and prodigal son came around, the Sheriff took the binge drinking to a whole new level. Once or twice he waited until Scott was gone so that Stiles and Derek could carry the broken man upstairs and clean up. After the fourth visit, Stiles just gave up and let Scott become another of his father’s enablers. They were like a club, the club of Dead Parents (Scott lost his father at a young age, enough not to remember him much to let his passing affect him in the way it did Stiles). Derek always hung around after he gave Scott a ride home to make sure Stiles was okay. The whole cathartic process of talking with Derek about his loss of his family helped Stiles lessen the pain over his.

                “So, what do I got waiting for me back at school?” Stiles asked Derek on his last night as a prisoner in his home.

                “What? And ruin the surprise?” Derek emerged from the window ledge and sat himself in his usual corner on Stiles’ desk chair.

                “Please tell me they don’t have the halls paved with his face.”

                “Nah, I they could never get Davis’ big head to fit in the posters.” Derek’s cringing over whether his jokes about the fallen brother would depress  Stiles calmed down to the point that even he started taking shots at him.

                “Too bad, Davis would have loved to have all the girls making out to his big ego.” Stiles phone pinged as he picked up to read a text from Scott.

**Hey, are you in your room?**

**Yeah.**  Stiles texted back.

**Let me in the front door. I kinda wanted to ask you if we could do something.**

“This sounds promising.” He showed Derek the texts as he contemplated his actions.

“Let’s go then; before he dies of frostbite out there.” Derek commented flatly. They walked downstairs and opened the door to Scott, who was holding some odd bag in his hands.

“Hey, man I— Oh, hey Derek.” Derek nodded his head to reply to the kid. “Stiles, tomorrow you go back to school.”

“Don’t remind me.” Stiles rolled his eyes

“I know you have to go back tomorrow to those idiots holding the memorial for your brother…”

“It’s tomorrow?” Stiles took the sentence in his head and split it up to make sense. Yes, tomorrow is his return to hell. But it can’t be… Then, he realized that being hidden away in his house with Derek and Scott had been part of Derek’s plan to try to soften him up and lose track of time. “It’ll be a year tomorrow since Davis and my mom died.” The pain of the memories crept in, his conversations about his brother with Derek became heavy inside his head. He turned to see Derek as his face tightened, angry at Scott for fucking up all of his work.

“Nice going idiot.” Derek spat out.

“Crap. I’m sorry Stiles, I thought you remembered…” Scott tried explaining.

“I’m fine.” Stiles interrupted him. “I’ll worry tomorrow.” He kept staring at Scott and willing himself to act like nothing was wrong, wait till he’s back home alone, away from Derek, so he can wallow in his misery. “Was that the point of your visit?”

“No!” Scott felt offended. “What I mean is, tomorrow everyone is going to make a big deal about your brother and how they all say that they knew him and I know you’re going to be pissed at them—”

“Still waiting for the point.”

“Well, since tomorrow they’re remembering Davis, how about tonight we remember your mom?” Scott pulled out a small set of roses and a blanket he had in the bag. “I thought, if you were up to it, we could visit her and you could have some time with her since no one else seems to want to talk about her.” Stiles watched how Scott looked at him with the fear that he was going to punch him for thinking of such a thing. How stupid of him to be afraid of me when he can easily take me, Stiles thought. He went back inside the house and saw the photo that was on the table, the whole family in some park with their faces all weird because they thought the timer didn’t work and moved at the last second. The kept the picture because it always made them laugh. Again, it reminded him of the moments that Jill and Davis would never see him go through. He put the picture facedown and was going to tell Scott to leave when a reflection caught his eye; near the window, on the coffee table, there was an old portrait of Jill standing on a cliff watching over something below. Her face was to the side, so you could only see her right side (her “best side” as she used to call it). She wasn’t smiling or laughing or sad, she was just looking down and losing herself in the grounds. He picked up the frame and walked out the door.

                “Get your car; you might as well drive us.” Stiles told Derek as he exited the house.

****

                The ride to the cemetery was quiet; Derek figured it must be around 2 in the morning. Stiles just sat next to him watching out the window as Scott kept acting like he was checking that the contents of his bag didn’t mysteriously disappear on the ride there. After the fifth time, Derek made a noise with his throat and Scott just put his hands in his pocket. Derek parked the car near the entrance just in case someone didn’t like their little ceremony in the middle of the night.

                “So…” Scott said as he stood next to Stiles. “Where is she?” Stiles walked past the entrance and just kept going past all the gravestones. Scott didn’t wait to be told to follow.

                    “Hey, why did you guys stop?” Scott asked. Derek wanted to rip Scott’s head off when he noticed Stiles’ abrupt stop and saw the cause:  
 **  
HERE LIES JILL MARIE STILINSKI  
GREAT WIFE,  EVEN BETTER MOTHER**  
  
Below was her date of birth and the date of her death.   
  
                    “Hey mom.” It was all Stiles got out. The gravestone they had bought for her mother was a white marble stone with golden letters engraved and an old design etched on top (thanks to the gracious donation of the townpeople). It was supposed to be kept under care every once in a while, but after the first few months people stopped caring, much like they do, the white stone black with dirt and molding, the letters losing their shine leaving the spaces where they remained. The last person who was there had left flowers that were just sticks at this point. Derek put his arm over Stiles in his attempt for comfort. 

                    “Good evening Jill.” he said. “We’ve been meaning to come by.” Derek couldn’t think of much more to say. He didn’t expect his emotions to take him in such a way. Surprise. Derek was also standing in front of his mother’s grave.  
                    “Excuse me.”  
Scott had laid out the picnic blanket on the grass and held the set of flowers and the picture from the bag. He gave them to Stiles, who just laid them at his mother’s grave and propped the picture where the odd carving was, pieces of it breaking off it. Scott opened a bottle of wine he took from his mom’s kitchen and poured it into the cups he took as well and passed them down. “It’s an old thing we do in my house; everyone holds a cup of red wine to hold in honor for the dead. You either drink it to help carry the pain of the loss or pour it out so the passing can withstand their pain.”

                    “Bottoms up.” Derek drank from his cup and poured the rest on the grass beneath his feet.

                    “So, that’s pretty much everything I had planned.” Scott sat down on the blanket and tried drinking the wine, choking on the bitter taste. “Would you like to say anything Stiles?” But the boy was looking into his wine, his head glassy.

                    “Why don’t we just sit down for a while, okay?” Derek suggested as they took their place next to each other in the grave. They sat in silence and drank the wine as the spirits sang with the wind. 


	6. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has arrived in which Stiles is about to face the school on the anniversary of Davis' death.  
> Things do not go well.

When the sun started to appear, they decided that it was time for them to leave. None of them had moved from the blanket except to spill the remnants of their wine glasses on the grass. Derek thought that maybe Stiles wanted to be alone with his mother, but he he said nothing and remained seated, staring at Scott so he wouldn’t move from his friend. Stiles just sat there the entire time, staring at his mother's grave as he tried to think of what he was supposed to say, but the words never came. The last time he'd seen her was when she came up to their room, asking Davis to help her go out for groceries. He felt so relieved his mother hadn’t pick him, didn’t try to make him go out and actually interact with old people telling him who always felt the need to tell him how handsome he was. Now, he wondered why she picked Davis over him, why didn’t she ask him like she usually did. Did she get tired of his whining and restlessness every time they tried going to the supermarket? Why didn’t he volunteer to go? Maybe if he had, he might have taken longer to pack up the bags, or he’d convince mom to hurry it up; _maybe if I had gone, somehow they wouldn’t have been on the street at that time._

Scott cleaned up and walked to the car while Derek gave Stiles one more chance to be alone with his mother, but Stiles just kept walking behind them. Derek dropped them off at Stiles’ so they could change before facing school.  

“Hey.” Derek put his arm on Stiles’ shoulder. “If you want to… If you need…” He couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound like something out of a Lifetime movie. “I’m here, so is Scott. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stiles answered as he put on the new shirt.

“Hey," Interrupted Scott. It can’t get worse.”

***

They survived the hallway, nothing much out there. The banners with Davis’ face plastered all over them hung in the entrance, but they kept most of the decal to a minimum. Apparently Scott forgot to mention that in mourning of the anniversary, everyone in school was told to come in wearing your basic black. The coincidence that Scott had picked out a black shirt as well had not gone unnoticed by him. Already people were gossiping in the halls about the controversial red shirt Stiles picked out from his closet; but, of course, being the younger brother of the no longer living, it gave him a free pass today. Stuck in his desk in homeroom, he had no way to avoid the stares and looks of sympathy that were really pity the others gave him. Even their teacher looked uneasily at him when he spoke about the importance of today’s date. The intercom cut him off halfway through his drabbles, asking the teachers to please accompany their classrooms to the assembly for today’s ceremony.

“Fuck.” Stiles cursed. The moment of truth came. He met up with Scott in the hallway, who really sucked at giving emotional support. As they walked among the rest of the multitude, he caught Derek and the rest of his team standing outside of a classroom with Coach in some absurd line formation. He saw how Derek’s jaw was tightened, his eyes hiding him away as always. When he saw Stiles with Scott in the crowd, he came back to the present and nodded at them, his face still clenched.

"Coach must have some sort of presentation in mind afterwards." Scott commented.

"Derek isn't too happy about it."

"Hey, do you wanna try hiding out in one of the classrooms? Avoid the whole thing?"

"We're already stuck here waiting. I have to face this." Stiles put up his brave face, but as they reached the assembly, he wished he had ran after all. There were a bunch of metal chairs opened out over the basketball court; the bleacher's were already being filled out with townspeople who asked to sit in on the homage for the fallen town star. As Stiles tried sitting down with Scott in one of the rows in the back, a hand tapped his shoulder. "Oh great." Stiles turned to see Valerie trying to turn her perky face into one of sorrow.

"I know, Stiles, that we had a little misunderstanding, but you don't have to hide out in the back. Come, we have a seat saved up on front." She pulled him against his will forward, denying Scott's claim when he followed them to the front row. His stomach was in knots, panic gripping his chest as he became another tribute of his brother on display. “Here.” She said as she sat him down in the very front row, next to a seat that was reserved for his father, who was apparently too hung-over too arrive. Next to his father's empty seat sat the principal who made eye contact with the teen and then turned towards the mayor, who graciously took the time out of his busy schedule to come and honor the local celebrity. _Lucky him._

Valerie walked up to the stage and asked for everyone to be quiet. Stiles felt even more than a target, hearing his name mentioned, the principal prodding him to stand up, his red shirt like a bull’s eye he hoped someone would shoot at. The words were barely audible at this point, the background music chosen to play during the montage muffled everything around him. He saw pictures of Davis’ running across the field, tackling teams and scoring the final touchdown. He expected the showing of his athletic abilities, but then came the videos of Davis hanging out in the hallway; chasing the guys out of the locker room; practicing with Derek as the cheerleaders tried distracting them. He could hear Davis’ voice in the back of his head reciting the words that went with the images. What he didn’t expect was seeing himself on the projector screen: a tiny Stiles of age five, crying on the floor of their home, Davis running towards him to hug his little brother; another moment, a birthday where they both got to blow out the candles together. And there she was, good old Jill with the cake knife to give her babies what they wanted.

“Mom.” Stiles heart felt like it wouldn’t keep pumping. His mother was taken away from the screen for another more recent memory of Davis’ starting out, and it hurt him more than he thought. He felt sick, his eyes seeing white dots and everything stung to look at. His lungs rejected the air he took in and choked him. His throat felt swollen and his mouth dry. He couldn’t stand it any longer and ran down the rows, gasps and yells from the student body as their tribute for their idol was rudely ruined.

“Stiles!”

He thought he heard Scott call out to him, but he couldn’t go back now; he needed air. He started to run, the pain of his lack in air worse with the added stress. He was outside in the school parking lot as he leaned next to a car parked in the handicapped space and emptied his stomach contents. The outside helped his physical strains, but his head still hurt, and the pain in him pressed his thoughts. “AAAHH!” He yelled out, the repressed pain and sorrow bleeding out of him in waves, covering his hot reddened face in tears.

“Stiles!”

He turned. Derek burst through the school doors and was looking for him. His face was worried for Stiles, he actually cared about him, Stiles, not just Davis’ younger brother. He walked out from behind the car and saw Derek’s face, his smile at his emerging turning into horror, running towards him. Stiles tried to find out what made Derek Hale look so terrified, when everything went black.


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is in a weird place that looks a lot like home. But what waits inside is not what he thinks.

The Stilinski house looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to it but wasn’t able to finish the job; dark, black smudges stained the majority of the structure, dust topping every window in the house. The roof on the front porch looked like it might cave in at the precise moment one chose to be under it. The grass looked a weird color of not-green and brown, dead, weeds. When Stiles found himself walking down the street towards the humble abode, he couldn’t help but feel like he should be wielding some kind of weapon as a health bar appeared over his head. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be there, because the last thing he remembered was getting to third base with some Toyota Camry. He assumed this must be either some weird limbo or another option which didn’t give him high hopes of his afterlife.

“Crap. I hope it’s Dante’s Inferno at least; maybe get some entertainment while I burn?” He kept walking towards his once-safe haven and knocked on the door, which was stupid, since considering it _is_ his house, dead or alive. He still waited a few moments to see if anyone answered him, getting a closer look of the residence. He saw the chairs out on the front porch, the swing fallen to the side, one of the chains rusted and broke it out of place. He noticed that someone had set a small garden set on the floor, movement in the dirt suggesting someone tried planting life in the ground but wasn't able to sustain it.

"Okay, Dad definitely isn't the gardener in the family." He was sure that the mini-garden was not there back home, so why is it here now? "Crap." He tried looking inside the house to see what hid, but the darkness and the soot prevented him. "I have to go in don't I?" He awaited for some mouse to click the door for him, but he was forced to do it himself.

The inside of was like back in the real world, except when he tried to switch on the light, nothing happened.

"Of Course." The photos still hung on the wall and adorned the table; he reached out and found that they didn't suffer like the windows. "Has someone been taking care of you?"

A noise. Someone was in the house. Don't do it--

"Hello?" Idiot; did horror movies have  no effect on you? At least you have the Virgin card to cling to. He followed the noise past the dining room, the candles set out and the plates laid out as well. Then he smelled something. It wasn't food, or anything for that matter. It was just boiling water. Assuming the worst, he tried grabbing a plate to wield as a deadly disk frisbee, but it burnt at the touch. It didn't singe his skin, but it still refused him when he tried another plate, or anything else.

"It's not going to let you touch anything because it's stuck this way." A voice spoke from the kitchen. "It's a museum of sorts, frozen as it awaits the rest of the exhibits." A woman.

"No." Stiles wished he were in a video game, and that someone could pause it, shut it down, disconnect it.

"Hello, my dear." Jill Stilinski emerged from the kitchen and bade her son into the living room.

****

Jill Stilinksi stood as if she had just come out of a black-and-white picture, if said picture had been worn away with time. Her brunette hair los the shine it owned, a chunk in the rear attempting to escape her head; bags clung to her heavy dark eyes, scratches covering her complexion and a cut on her lower lip.

“Come, let’s sit down.” She took her son’s hand and guided him back to their living room. He noticed how her hands were harsh, no longer the smooth skin she glowed in. She kept smiling at him, but Stiles caught her eyes watching the pictures frames that followed them into the room. “So.” She put her hand on his face, and he cringed. He didn’t get why, since the only thing he’s wanted this whole year was to feel his mom hold him again; it felt weird, not right.

“Uh…” Stiles was at a loss for words. “Ow!”

Stiles didn't think that being smacked by a ghost would actually hurt that much.

"Really? After all I taught you, you got run over by a car? A CAR? What did I used to say about crossing the street?" Stiles couldn't help but laugh at the surrealism of it all. Here he was, sitting in a morbid version of his home, listening to his dead mom scold him because he died without looking both ways before crossing. Classic. "I am so glad you find all of this hilarious."

"What's the worst you can do? Ground me? It's kind of an empty threat." Stiles couldn't help smiling at his mother's face. He still was in awe of it, no matter how much it changed, it was still Jill's loving features. She realized her son's attempt at normalcy and couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Well," she said. "I can still sit you over my lap and spank you." They stared at each other and burst out laughing. "My dear boy." Her eyes brightened upon his gazing his face, but her smile seemed to drop. "Why are you here?"

"I think you can guess the answer to that." Stiles said. "What is this anyway? Some bizare waiting room made to look like a crappy remake of home?"

"This is where I remain." Jill stood up and walked over to the window.

"What does that mean?"

"It's complicated."

"Try me. We've got eternity to discuss it."

"Not really." Jill touched the cracks on the glass as they trembled beneath her touch. "The house is starting to weaken; it must be because of your presence."

"I still don't get it."

"Stiles, you're not supposed to be dead. You've simply given up to the ideal of it. Come here." She gestured towards the window. He got up an tried looking out to what she pointed at. "What do you see?"

At first it was simply the street where the house was, but shadows started to walk upon it; three of them. One floated horizontally in midair, the more firm one standing over him, and a third one stumbling upon the two. "I still-"

"Will you just keep looking? God, you're still as impatient as ever."

As Jill walked away, he kept observing as the shadows started taking in colors, the space between them taking shape. He realized the one that hovered in midair was actually lying on a bed, the figure standing over him, a sort of guardian. The third one had already taken colors and was molding itself to reality.

"Dad."

Sheriff Stilinski seemed like the years smacked him out of his drunken stupor and into his uniform. He saw his mouth moving, but no sound came out. "Why does he sound so pissed?" The former shadow to whom he was fighting with proved to be Derek, who refused to be moved from his spot. 

"Wanna take a gamble as to who is the mystery sleeper?"

Jill didn't wait for his answer, because Stiles already caught himself wrapped up in bandages and covered in bruises. 

"I'm not dead yet?" 

"You're not meant to die now." Jill wiped off one of the portraits. "You're not supposed to be here."

The shadows started speaking; they were shouting actually. Derek was telling his father to fuck off.

"Now you decide to pay attention to your son?"

"How dare you?" The sheriff walked over, tripping over the chair. "I've always been looking out after him."

"Yeah. At least we know he's not in the bottom of your bottles of booze."

Stiles cringed at the sight of his father slapping his friend.

"I have tried my best to make sure what's left of my family doesn't fall into hell. Do you know how many times I tried eating my gun? I spent months looking into Jill's death, trying to find some explanation. It ate away at me. I kept seeing her face in my sleep, so I stopped sleeping; then she was everywhere. I couldn't even have her as I used to see her; she was always as the last time I saw her, at the scene."

"So you drank?"

"Of course I drank! I am not perfect! But I STILL did my best to keep you safe; the both of you." He fell onto the chair, looking as if he had nothing left in him. "I got a call last night, about how some hoodlums were breaking into the cemetery. I asked them to check it out, when they told me it was your car parked out there. When I realized what you were doing, what day it was... I asked them to stand down."

“I… I didn’t know.” Derek walked over to the broken man and put his hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

His father was about to say something else, but the voice felt fractured. They players started drifting of, as if unable to hold on to the scene any longer.

  “What’s going on?” He asked Jill.

“It’s already started.”

 “What are you talking about now?”

 “Stop asking so much and just do what I say.”

 “Yes, because that always works out great in horror flicks.” Stiles pulled his arm out his her grasp but continued after her.

 “Listen to me. You’re not supposed to be here; what you saw proves it. You are alive.” Jill’s face brightened at the fact that one of her sons still had a chance, but her mouth showed her anguish at having to let him go once again. “You can’t stay here any longer.”       

 “But—”

 “Don’t you ‘but’ me, young man.” She pulled open the door when the handle fell apart in her hands when he heard it.

 “Stiles?” That wasn't him mom who spoke.


	8. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles was not prepared for this.

                “Stiles?”

                “No.” Stiles froze at the call of his name. He turned his head, and saw a shadow falling on the stairs from the second floor.

                “Stiles, you have to go.” Jill tried moving him towards the door but he pushed her away.

                “Davis? He’s here?” His brother’s voice sounded so strange to him, of course he had to doubt what he heard.

                “Stiles, I am sorry, but you can’t see him.”

                “Why didn’t you say he was here?!” He ran towards the steps as the figure retreated.

                “Stop!” Davis’ voice shouted. The younger sibling obeyed frustratingly on the first step.

                “What? Davis,” His voice fell into a whisper when he spoke his brother’s name. “I miss you man.”

                “He knows; so do I.” Jill answered her sadly breathing son. “But you can’t see him, or you’ll never be able to let go.”

                “How am I supposed to be fine with letting my mother and brother rot in a carcass of my home?” He was exacerbated, his breathing quickened. His _brother_. Good, old, annoying, Davis was upstairs, probably spread out on the bed hitting the wall with his lucky ball, or something like that. His foolish smirk and pompous attitude were just shooting the breeze. He could imagine throwing himself on top of him in the bed and fighting over who crashed the computer again with the overload of porn or video games. “I have to see him.”

                “You have to leave!” His mother shrieked at him, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you understand? _You_ are the reason the house is dying.” She bit her lips shut, regretting even mentioned that tidbit of information.

                “What?” Stiles touched the wall, whose paint cracked under his touch.

                “The illusion can’t hold itself to you any longer; it already drained most of its strength opening the window to the living.”

                “Mom?”

                “Stiles, now you listen to me and you listen to me good.” She took him by the arm and walked him out the door.

                “But—”

                “Dammit, Stiles! I am your mother and you will listen to me for once in your life!” Stiles kept quiet; he had to admit, he missed his mother’s spunk. “You need to let us go, son. I know it hurts, but you can’t keep clinging to us to avoid more pain.”

                “You want me to forget you?”

                “Are you insane?! As if you can ever forget me, or your brother. I may be dead, but I can still throw you over my knee and give you a spanking!” Good old Jill, feisty as ever.

                “All right! I believe you.”

                “It’s okay to miss us, but you have to continue with your life. Think of your friends: Scott, Derek…” She tightened her hold of his hand.

                “What about him?”

       “He really cares about you Stiles, he really tries to keep you safe.”          

                “I know.” She was right. Derek was there, always.

                “Don’t forget that sometimes the people who take care of us need help most of all.” She kissed his cheek, the warmth of it taking her breath away. He pulled her in tight and hugged her.

                “I’ll be seeing you.” He joked.

                “Not funny!”

He walked outside, but his feet refused to leave, so the ground moved for him, away from the facade that was meant to mirror his home, the woman who died before him when it was meant to be the other way around, and the brother with whom he fought so much. He hadn't realized the reason he hated mourning his brother was because it hurt more than he imagined. He chose to be angry at him instead, and lament their forgotten mother instead. 

“Goodbye, I’ll miss you.” He said, thought he wasn’t sure to which he was talking to anymore. 


	9. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up from everything, but will everything fall to pieces in real life?

You know how in the movies, people open their eyes all relaxed and stuff? Well, that wasn’t Stiles. He had that blissful feeling for all of two seconds. Then the pain hit him hard from the crash and he almost sat up on the bed again and screwed himself up even worse. They had to bring in the nurses and the whole she-bang to dose him down before he could wake up properly. The first thing he felt (because his vision was still blurry) was someone holding his hand. As he was able to focus, he saw that it was Derek. He looked much worse than he’d seen him in that other world: bags under his eyes, his clothes wrinkled, his hair a mess. And yet when Stiles saw him smile, he thought Derek was looking better than he had in a long time.

“Hey.” Derek’s said, his voice timid. “Think you can get up this time without causing a havoc again?”

“You should see the other guy.” Stiles mouth raised into a smile for a moment before he felt the twinge of pain from the movement. “So, how long have I been a sleeping beauty?”

“A month.” Derek told him. _A month?!_ He’d felt that he’d only been sleeping for a few hours. How could he still be in so much pain? “The car really did a number on you, but I was able to carry you into my car and drive you to the emergency room.”

“My hero.” He mused.

“Hey, don’t get used to it; you’re cleaning my car after all the blood you left in it.” Derek laughed as he put his hand over Stiles’ head, trying to make sure he was really there. His eyes were red, trying to hold back his tears. “God damn it, Stiles. You really scared me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Derek scoffed at the words.

“You’re _sorry?_ Is that supposed to make it okay?” Derek’s mood wasn’t relief and somber anymore; he was angry. “You almost DIED, Stiles. You’re lucky that car wasn’t going any faster or else I would have lost someone else I cared about! Did you think you were the only one who hated what they were doing in that stupid ceremony?”

“No, but--”

“No!” Derek stopped him, tears running down his face. He suddenly threw himself into Stiles, clutching at his robe, sobbing into his chest. Stiles was surprised, to say the least. He held Derek there, he realized that he had been carrying all that grief in him much like Stiles had done himself, except he chose to chain it up inside. “I lost Davis and Jill too, you know. I couldn’t lose you too.” He actually cared for Stiles, had been trying to be strong for him. Stiles pulled Derek’s face into his hands and stared at him.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Not anymore, he told himself. His mother was right; he had to let them go, before he lost Derek too. The senior smiled as Stiles wiped the trail of salt on his face. “Besides, you didn’t think you were going to be rid of me that easily, now did you?”

****

                It takes Stiles around a year to finish his physical therapy, and is able to finally be done with the hospital (okay, so he was actually only six months in a hospital room; if they kept him any longer someone was going to bring out the syringe and it wasn’t going to be pretty). He moves back home with his dad, who’s meetings with AA have really helped. He keeps showing that dumb one 10 month chip to every one of his suspects. Stiles thinks the reason they confess is to get him to shut up about it. Derek graduates with honors in wrestling (of course) and even makes it as the third highest grade in his class. Once he aged out of the foster system, he got a house out near the woods. The location isn’t great, but it helped Derek negotiate the price, and he has his car to take him to the local college anyway. Stiles didn’t miss much from his courses, so he’s able to continue the semester with Scott in his sophomore year. It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than before.

Still, Stiles doesn’t feel at home in his house anymore. It sucks because his dad is really trying, and they do talk more, but it reminds him of that dream (although he doesn’t think it’s a dream), with his mom and Davis living in the tomb that imitates their home. It makes him so sad. Derek notices this one night.

“Hey.” Derek knocked on his window. The Sheriff is now savvy to his lat night visits, and offers him the opportunity to come in through the front door, but some habits die hard. “What’s up?”

“Hey mister college man.” Stiles threw his calculus notebook on the floor and made room for Derek in between the mess of his books. “Finally have some free time from all the college hotties?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Actually I just got out of work.” Derek took up a job working in the college library, which has worked wonders in his favor. “I thought I’d come by and see how you’re doing.”

“You know that whole, ‘I was in the neighborhood’ excuse doesn’t really work anymore now that you live on the other side of the town? Although, you never really were in the neighborhood now were you?”

“So I like to check in on you. Sue me.” He took Stiles head around his arm and flicked him on the head.

“Ow! Hey, hey! Watch the genius brain.” Stiles pushed off Derek, although he’s used to their rowdy games.

“Yeah, yeah.” Derek rolls his eyes, but he notices the odd dim in Stiles’ eyes. “So, you know how I’m living in the woods.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound creeper at all.” Stiles remarks. “How big _is_ that house?”

“Pretty big.” Derek answers. “There’s a lot of space; way too much for me.”

“So then, get a roommate.”

“I would, but that requires a process, asking for permits, interviewing people.” Derek is just spewing excuses at this point, so Stiles continues working on something on his computer. “I’d rather just ask someone I already know, who I can trust won’t destroy my house or piss me off, someone I spend most of my nights with already…” Stiles stops here, looks up at Derek, who’s eyes just mention how it’s about fucking time he got it.

“Wait,” Stiles hops up next to him. “You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“Yeah.” Derek tries to play it off, twirling his thumbs. “I mean, it’s not like we’d share a room or anything. There’s enough to choose from. And I can give you a ride in the mornings to school; and this way I can help you with your work, or I can help you look at colleges.” Derek has really got the onset rambling button turned on today.

“Uh huh, but what about rent?”

“I’ve been paying for the house just fine for now.” Derek explains. “If you want, later on we can talk about a payment plan, or you can get a job, help around the house…”

“But… why would you want me living with you?” Stiles just doesn’t get it, or doesn’t want to? Derek can’t tell. “Won’t my sophomore living cramp your style?” Derek laughs at this.

“Stiles, Contrary to popular belief, high school doesn’t follow you to college. People change. Sure, I talk to people, and I keep in touch with some of them, but I like being calm, alone, relaxed. And, I like talking to you, watching out for you.” Derek thinks about whether to mention this, because he doesn’t know whether Davis wanted it to be a secret, but he feels Stiles should know. “Before the accident, Davis talked to me. He told me about this scholarship deal he had in Texas, about he was worried about you being on your own, and wanted me to watch over you.”

“He… he did?” Stiles face softens, slowly melted under the truth. “He’s such a dork.” Stiles comments while he laughs, a tear coming from his eyes. It’s not sadness he’s crying for, but love. Sometimes he forgot how much he was loved by his brother, and his body liked how it felt when he remembered.  “So, is that why you keep entering my room in the middle of the night like the boogeyman?”

“Oh, now you’re dissing my technique?”

“Oh that’s a technique? That only works if you’re a millionaire philanthropist who fights crime in tights.”

“Why do you think I’m inviting you to live with me?” Derek suggests. “I need a plucky sidekick.”

“Pfft, dude, I would totally end up stealing your thunder.”

They continued the scenario in their minds for hours, discussing who gets the car when one of them betrays the other, where the secret entrance is, where the second entrance will be when it blows up because of some villain undertaker, until the sheriff threatens to come in with tranquilizer guns to shut them up (he’s joking of course, but only slightly; he loves hearing his son laugh, after thinking he’d never hear it again).

So Stiles agrees to move in with Derek, and although Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t like the thought of his house so empty, he knows Stiles will be happier with Derek, in more ways than one. Besides, with Stiles out of the house, he can probably invite Melissa McCall over for that dinner he’s been owing her forever.

*****

_Jill is looking through the window at the yard, a young Stiles and Davis playing, not even ten years old yet._

_“Darlings, don’t you ever grow up, just stay this little.” The little hum plays in her head. When it’s time for dinner, he calls her boys inside._

_“Mommy.”_

_“Yes, Stiles?”_

_“Will you ever leave us? I mean, leave Davis and Daddy and me?” Jill just smiles at her son, crouching down to their level. Davis hides behind his brother, avoiding a look that says ‘I know you put your brother up to this; next time just ask me yourself.’_

_“Boys, even when I’m not here, I’m with you. I may grow old, I may go with grandma and grandpa, I may leave the town; but I will never leave my brave little men.”_

_“What about your brave big men?” The father figure walks up from behind Jill, a kiss lightly left on her cheek._

_“Whoever said you were big? You’re also one of my brave little men.” Jill pinched at his nose and patted him on the head. “Now, come inside before I give you a spanking.” She went back in the door and went towards the kitchen._

_“Yes ma’am. Come on boys.” Sheriff grabs Stiles and Davis in his arms, still at the age where they fuss in their father’s arms._

_“See I told you.” Stiles gloated towards his brother._

_“I never doubted her for a second.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've reached this, that means you've read it all! I thank you for bearing with me, and although I had another thing in mind with this, this was the end result of my first AU fanfic. Maybe if I ever get the muse from this, I'll add the werewolf thing into it, and maybe return Davis (because I had other plans for them all).


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